AN: Hey. Super-crazy/scary revelation about Alex coming up in this chapter! I AM NOT ABUSED! This is just the product of my scary imagination. Review!

Looking over my shoulder, I watched Edmund's form, gradually get smaller and smaller, and then disappear behind some trees. I returned my attention to Shadowhunter. "So, where are we going, Alex?" he asked me.

"Back to the King and the Queens and the Beavers. You've been following us the whole time, haven't you?"

"Well, yeah. But it was justifiable. I've known you for a long time, and I know by now that I should never let you out of my sight, or else you'll get yourself killed."

"Me? Never."

We rounded a corner, and there they were, walking hurriedly, Peter and Lucy casting scared glances behind them. Peter had his sword drawn, holding it loosely, as he'd seen me do when we had been running from the Witch. He turned toward us suddenly. He must have heard us coming. We could be quiet when we wanted to, so we were pretty close to them when he heard us. His sword was up in an instant and then he relaxed when he saw it was me. "What took you so long?" he asked.

"Oh, you know. The usual. Had a run-in with the Witch, got bitten by wolves, said hi to your brother – he's alive, by the way – and then escaped. Happens about once a week with us doesn't it Shadowhunter?"

"Yeah."

"You . . . talk?" Susan asked.

"You've spent two days with a pair of talking Beavers, and you're surprised when a horse talks?"

"I'm just not used to it," she answered coldly.

"Well, then. I suppose you wouldn't be, would you?" I grinned. "Oh, yeah. Introductions. Pevensies, Shadowhunter. Shadowhunter, Pevensies. The oldest is Peter, second oldest is Susan, third oldest is Edmund, who you have yet to meet and rescue, and the fourth oldest, or the youngest, is Lucy. And you've already met the Beavers."

"It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesties," Shadowhunter said formally.

"As it is to meet you, Shadowhunter," Peter added, and then looked at me for approval. I shrugged and then winked. He grinned. "well, I suppose we should get going, don't you?" he said.

"Yes, we should. And since Lucy over here looks like she could use a break from walking, she gets to ride on the 'pretty pony'." I hoisted her up onto Shadowhunter's back. He snorted and looked down at me with contempt.

"'Pretty pony?'"

"Oh, you know me. Be careful with her."

"I'm always careful when it comes to ladies."

"Oh. So you don't consider me a lady and you want to get your skinny equestrian butt kicked, don't you? I would gladly do the favor for you." Peter snickered. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

"Smart answer." We kept walking. All around us, spring was coming. I realized that I'd nearly forgotten what grass looked like. And there were actual flowers, too! It's amazing what you can see when it isn't winter all the time.

Peter looked at me, a question in his eyes. "What?" I asked.

"I was just thinking. You don't seem to be the person who just happens to have a talking horse ready to come galloping in to save the day. You must have had it planned out. Why didn't you tell us? In fact, why didn't you tell us that you were a spy for Aslan when we first met you? You talked with the wolf as though he was your best friend! Why don't you have a family here, like a mom and a dad? Why should we trust you? Why should I trust you?" He had lowered his voice to a whisper so that he wouldn't worry his sisters.

"I'm sorry, but these are not the sort of questions you should be asking a person with my past."

"I wouldn't know that. I hardly know anything about you. I only met you yesterday. Tell me why, Alex." I looked into his dark blue eyes, arguing with myself in my head. I couldn't tell him, but he'd managed to ask me in such a way that if I didn't tell him, he'd be able to question why he should trust me. By the Lion, he would make a good politician. I bit my lip. He watched me, and my indecision, and then said "If you're scared to tell me, you don't have to." Dang, how did he do that? How did he know that he could trick me into telling him because I hate being thought of as weak? I ground my teeth together, hating my pride, and my fear of soul-bearing moments such as these, because they usually end with mushy emotions. I hate mushy emotions. I don't do crying, and feelings that aren't happiness, physical pain, adrenalin, and anger. I can deal with those four. The others? Not so much. Finally, I decided.

"Okay. I'll tell you. When I was eight, my father killed my mother in front of me. I shielded my little sister, Becca, who's two years younger than me. She didn't see it; she just knows that it happened. About a week after that, my dad started abusing us. He lit me on fire once. I had to hide Becca. I learned how to steal, and how to lie. I perfected deceit. I could tell your little sister that I killed you but it wasn't my fault, and she'd believe me, even if you were standing right next to me, in plain sight. I don't really know how Becca and I got into Narnia, but it was during one of our many escape attempts. We fell asleep in an alleyway, and the next thing we knew, we'd woken up in Narnia. We were found by the Beavers and sort of adopted. Then, one day, when I was out hunting - not talking animals, mind you, never talking animals, that's like eating a baby – the Witch found me. She wanted to recruit me, so I let her. You don't say no to the Witch, not to her face anyway. But really, I passed on information to the Beavers. It went on for about a year, and then you lot showed up, and that's basically what happened." My history didn't bother me. It had become a fact in my messed up, freaky life. I had told my story with a calm level voice, and turned my head to see his reaction. Peter looked scared, not of me, but of what had happened to me.

"You – you're not joking, are you? Because that would make me feel a lot better if you were."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" I asked softly, looking into his eyes.

"No, you don't. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Then you need to learn to think before you say anything. I have the same problem. I'll fire off some snappy comeback without thinking, and the next thing I know, I'm getting beat up."

"You? Beat up? I doubt it."

"You'd be surprised. Well, now that you know my history, I guess there isn't much left to talk about."

"I guess so."

We kept walking in an odd silence. Peter's silence was awkward, a little scared, but I could tell that he was thinking very hard. Mine was just quiet. I checked the Sun; it was 3:00. In seven hours, I'd met Father Christmas, run from the Witch multiple times, been drained of magic, been kidnapped by some sadistic wolves, escaped from the Witch, and somehow managed to keep Peter, Susan, and Lucy safe. All in a day's work. Sheesh.

AN: Again review! 5 reviews = another chapter!